Jobn Jtjounaer 371 



There came over John Younger at this period of his 

 life an intense yearning to meet with some living brother- 

 poet to whom he could pour out his confidences, and 

 from whom he could get the sympathy for which he 

 craved. How at last he met with such a brother-bard 

 is thus told in his Autobiography : 



" While under these feelings one winter evening, an 

 old woman observed ' Dear me, ye're aye singin' sangs. 

 I never hear ony o' ye sing " The Oak Tree," a fine sang, 

 made by Andrew Scott when he was a sodger in the 

 American war.' ' Who is Andrew Scott, Peggy ? ' 

 inquired I. ' Bless me ! do ye no ken Andrew Scott o' 

 Bowden, wha thrashes at Winfield, barnman there this 

 winter ? He stops there a' the week and gangs hame on 

 Saturday nights. He has made mony a bonnie sang, 

 and nice poems, too, and is a kindly, quiet man as ye 

 ever saw aye sae blythe and weel pleased. If ye wad 

 gang up in the fore-suppertime, an' crack wi' him about 

 poetry his heart wad rise, for he'll ha'e naething to amuse 

 him at nichts yonder but a book, for he's aye readin' or 

 writin', or tweedlin' on the fiddle.' 



This conversation occurred early on a winter evening. 

 So out I sallied, and flew like a meteor over a mile of 

 ground to Winfield, dropt into the farmer's kitchen, and 

 found Andrew Scott, my friend to be, sitting on a form 

 scat, tailoring his old grey coat, which had got very 

 poetically out at the elbow." 



The old soldier and the young cobbler became fast 

 friends, having one strong bond of union in their 

 common love of poetry. " I then considered him," says 

 John simply, "to be likely the best of all unprinted 



